Yield
by No Volume Control
Summary: He's had it with her blatant disrespect of his person and C-Sec's protocols. She's done with his nasty attitude and intimidation tactics. The entire C-Sec ward is fed up with the constant volatile conflict between Saren and Jane. Their closest friends believe it's high time that the two take their frustrations out on one another in a bed rather than on the sparring mats.


**Recommendation(s):  
**_Page Width:_ Keep story's width at "3/4"; adjustment settings are at the top-right corner of the site, where the different font styles and sizes are located. "3/4" is the original width that this story was written in.

_Light/Dark:_ This chapter is best read on the** light** background setting because it deals with nighttime and dark thoughts.

* * *

**Author's Note:** This is a self-fill of a kink prompt I proposed over at the Mass Effect Kink livejournal community.

* * *

"What the **hell** is your _problem_, Arterius?"

"Would that be a rhetorical question, Shepard, or is this you patently toying with my patience?"

Numerous vulgar and inciting retorts battled for dominance for the privilege of being the one that would engage the bastard turian in yet _another _round of verbal combat. The exasperated groans that sounded respectively from their surrounding colleagues only seemed to incense her further.

This was not her fault - it was his!

However, no scathing reply succeeded in reaching her tongue when he slowly turned to her. The way he was regarding her, with that cool and almost bored indifference, it had her wanting to deal him a right-hook to the face right then and there. But her muscles had become immobile as much as her voice had been stolen while she was captured under the frostiness of his gaze.

Even by turian standards, he was unpleasant to her - from his cold arrogance, to his bleak personality, to his tasteless brand of xenophobia, to the permanently embedded cybernetics glinting harshly in the side of his face. He was just a nasty piece of work in every aspect.

Every aspect, that is, except those goddamned_ eyes_.

He had no business being the bearer of those eyes - those striking blue ice irises, contrasting starkly against the circle of dark, tender skin within the sockets of his unusually pale, mark-less facial plates. No matter the situation - even now, when she was two seconds away from getting into an outright brawl with the bastard - her heart would jump and her entire body would tense up whenever those eyes landed on her.

Those eyes were a glimpse into the nature of his species as an apex predator. Calculating, unblinking; fixated on her and perpetually sizing her up, analyzing her for any weaknesses that could be exploited to his immediate advantage.

Like she was prey.

And it was so strange, him being the only turian on the force who made her feel so unnerved when he was anywhere near her. He was far from being the only xenophobe in C-Sec, but he was surely the only one who harbored such intensity and disdain when he looked upon her.

Her eyes caught the sight of the slim, healing gash carved into the mandible on the side of his face that lacked the cybernetic plating.

She felt a grim satisfaction in the knowledge that it would most likely scar. She sported a similar cut, albeit longer and deeper, across the middle of her back - a testament to her mistake of wearing a ratty cropped top while engaging Saren on the mats. Even his regulation-issued gloves hadn't provided safety from his talons when he'd taken that vengeful swipe at her back. She'd gotten him back the next day, though, when she'd "forgotten" to remove her academy class ring before putting on her own gloves. Needless to say, it had wiped that smug look from his face in an instant.

Still, it bothered her that she didn't know what she could have done to have warranted such a wrathful outburst from the otherwise cool and collected turian. One moment she had been attempting to kick him off balance with one of his spurs, and then the next she had been on the receiving end of his unbridled rage.

And now they were both going to bare a scar from the incident, along with a penalty on their records. It was just went to show that the two of them concocted quite the volatile chemistry, ignited simply by existing in the other's space.

"Silence, Shepard? I'm shocked."

"Sorry, I was just distracted by how _ugly_ you are. I can only imagine your mother's face when you fell out of her."

"Oh, I'm sure you could."

She would be lying straight through her teeth if she denied ever possessing a flight response whenever facing a hostile situation. Sometimes, though, it was joked about between her and a few of her closer colleagues about how reckless and exuberant she could get when chasing down thieves and exposed drug runners across the Citadel, and then tackling them right there in front of startled and shocked citizens.

But she was human; therefore she wasn't as oblivious as she seemed whenever she got herself into trouble. And right now, she was pretty sure she was courting an ass beating of galactic proportions by goading Saren like this. The sane part of her mind – that inherent flight response – was begging her to just stop while she was ahead and back away.

At the beginning of her enrollment in C-Sec, she had found out the hard way that mentioning _any_ member of the Arterius family in front of him, no matter the context, would reserve you a special seat on his bad side.

At the time, she had just been trying to make friendly conversation with him. When she'd discovered his surname, asking him if he was related to _Desolas_ Arterius, famed and decorated general in the First Contact war, had merely been commonplace curiosity.

Honestly, she hadn't meant any harm by it. But the way Saren had reacted . . . the unexpected hostility by way of him stepping right into her space, so close that she'd felt the heat of his body washing over her, and then growling, _"Mind your place, human . . . or you will be __**put**__ there."_ - it was an extremely sore subject for him, _that _he had made perfectly clear.

And oh, did it make for some excellent bait material.

She had never been one to roll over for an asshole, senior officer or not, and being an asshole to her without provocation was just putting the boxing gloves up. When she faced off against him on the mats, she would often taunt him about his brother or his lack of clan facial markings. That usually succeeded in provoking him to take off those metaphorical gloves and go toe-to-toe with her bare-fisted. The problem, though, was that she sometimes forgot that they weren't in the ring when she decided to needle him.

She involuntarily swallowed when he crossed the short distance between them, his gait deliberate; with a purpose.

Oh, she did it this time.

"My mother, _human_," he began slowly, his vocals having dipped so low that she could actually _feel_ the deep vibrations of his sub-harmonics between them, "could not be more proud to have birthed such reputable and prominent sons. You, however . . . well, I have heard something of a _much_ different story."

She felt her blood slowly seep from her face as his words pierced through her hardened defenses like a well-trained pulse cannon.

He must have noticed her reaction for his expression became one of self-satisfaction. He casually clasped his hands behind his back and began to slowly circle her.

"What it must be like," she stiffened, her lips thinning tightly when he'd rounded behind her and leaned in close, his breath warm against ear, "having a mother with a background record like _that_."

"Shut up," she hissed, whirling on him to glare at him. Her heart began to pound under the burn of her anger. Her hands balled into tight fists when he paused, assessing her with a vicious glint in his eye.

"_Oh_," he purred, beginning his premeditated stroll around her once more, looking darkly pleased with himself as he peered down at her. "Struck something tender, have I? That's _most_ unfortunate."

"You don't know shit about me," she growled, attempting to muster her bravado with a heavy weight in her belly, realizing that he managed to unearth a vulnerability and was fully intending torment her with it. His next set of words were like had read her exact thoughts.

"I hardly need to know you when give yourself away so easily," he spoke composedly. He then came to a stop at her side, his chest the barest of touches against her shoulder, and he leaned in toward her again.

She didn't know her teeth were clenched until she felt a dull ache blooming in her jaw. She remained strong, holding her ground as she watched him steadily, knowing that he was just trying to intimidate her at this point.

"So, tell me, Shepard," he drawled, his tone dripping with venom as he locked his frost-blue gaze with hers, his face a breath in distance from hers, "which burdens you more: The knowledge that neither of your parents wanted you . . . or the discovery that you are merely the byproduct of your mother's dedicated career in _prostitution_?"

Later on, she would be reminiscing over the speed she was capable of swinging at. She would also relive, with smug satisfaction, the audible _crack_ her fist made when it connected with the underside of Saren's jaw, his resulting clipped grunt a pleasant echo in her ears.

Of course, that was _all_ that she got over on him. When she'd cocked back her arm again and threw it forward with murderous intent searing through her blood, he'd deflected her with his forearm before reaching out with his other and snatching her neck up in his talons.

Shouts of alarm rose into the air and both human and turian officers immediately surrounded them to break them apart. As he was being dragged away, Saren spat something her translator couldn't filter into her language, but the acidic tone that soaked words was enough to ignite her temper to new heights as she, too, was pulled away.

"Let me go! He's dead when I get my fucking hands on him!" she shouted, struggling against the hands gripping her forearms and hauling her back. Her gaze never once strayed from the barefaced bastard's as he, in turn, fought against his own restrainers, all the while snarling, _"Release me! I'm going to cut her down!" _

"Cool it, _chica loco_!" The thick, burly arm that quickly looped around her middle had her recognizing James Vega long before his voice did, and her breath was momentarily knocked from her when he hefted her clear off the floor.

She started punching and clawing at the arm as she kicked her feet out and shouted after the officers that were pulling Saren farther and farther away.

"You assholes bring him back over here! I'm not through with him! Not by a fucking long shot!"

_"I will render your flesh to shreds, human!" _was Saren's answering snarl from his distance across the lobby.

"**That**. **Is**. _**Enough**__!_"

The enraged roar echoed harshly across the ward. The hush that fell at deadweight across the academy's foyer was nearly deafening.

She froze against the heavily muscled chest she was being clutched to, her heart shooting into her throat as she stared at Executor Pallin. He stood tall across the room, brutalizing everyone with the glare he was quietly rounding on everyone within the vicinity. When he finally stopped on her, she had the decency to flinch.

"Shepard. Arterius. In my damn office. _**Now**__._"

Her heart fell from her throat, bypassed her chest, and plummeted straight into her stomach, taking with it all of the pent up fight she'd gathered in her as she watched him turn sharply and head back down the darkened corridor.

"..I think you've done it this time, _lola_," she heard Vega breathe above her, and she caught herself from sinking right to the floor when he finally set back on her feet.

Taking a few moments to compose herself, she eventually squared her shoulders and forced herself to follow Saren down the corridor, all the while trying to figure how best to save her skin.

Damn Saren. Damn him to the fiery, unforgiving pits.


End file.
